


baby that's the fun of me

by blamefincham, thistidalwave



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamefincham/pseuds/blamefincham, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: “So it didn’t occur to you that I might notwantyou to be my boyfriend?”Kevin waves a hand. “It doesn’t matter; it’s just for practice.” He leans back on his hands and watches Carter pace for a moment. “Look, you’d think it was impossible to pitch a shutout in the Stanley Cup Final if you never showed up to praccy, right? You practice having a boyfriend, then you’ll see you can do it any time you want. Easy.”
Relationships: Carter Hart/Kevin Hayes
Comments: 20
Kudos: 304





	baby that's the fun of me

**Author's Note:**

> We decided to write this fic because we wanted something stupid to distract us from *waves hands at the general state of the world*. This is...uh, definitely that. Title is, as usual, from TSwift (long may she reign).
> 
> Pay no attention to the NHL or NFL schedules; we sure didn't.

“Hartsy, I think that guy is checking you out,” Kubes says, nodding up at the bar. Everybody else looks, so Carter pointedly doesn’t. 

“And?” Carter says.

“And he’s a fuckin’ smokeshow, so go shoot your shot,” Bee says, like it’s obvious. 

Carter shrugs and takes a drink of his soda. “I don’t get the point of hooking up with randoms,” he says, frank. “It’s never as good as sleeping with somebody you know, is it?” 

There’s some nodding from the older guys, at least. Some of the younger guys look skeptical. But Carter thinks that’s going to end the conversation until Kevin, of all people, chimes in with, “So, what, you got somebody at home in Edmonton waiting for you?”

Carter was really hoping to not have this conversation…ever, honestly. But. Here it is. “I’m not really planning on dating until I retire,” Carter admits. He braces himself.

“You— _why_?” Kubes says, baffled. 

“It would be too much of a distraction,” Carter says firmly. A couple of guys look like they’re gonna argue, so Carter continues, “Not to the team, to _me_. I have a lot of routines, and I need to stay focused during the season. Plus we’re gone all the time…it wouldn’t be fair to them to only be really present during the summer, and it would make me play worse. I can wait.”

Carter has, genuinely, thought this through. He made pro-con lists. He meditated on it. He’s ready for the arguments he knows his teammates will raise—but fortunately he’s saved from having to counter them by TK almost coming to blows with Coots over cheating at pinball.

After that, everyone’s forgotten about the whole dating thing. And even if they haven’t? Carter’s a goalie, and goalies are allowed to be weird. He visualizes them leaving it alone and is pretty sure they actually will.

At least, he’s sure until he hears a knock on his door about twenty minutes after they get back to the hotel. He peers out the peephole and sees Kevin, and he sighs. “Haysey, it’s like midnight, what do you want,” Carter says through the door.

“It’ll only take a minute!” Kevin replies, way too loud for a hotel corridor at 11:58pm. Carter opens the door hastily and lets him in, for the sake of the other occupants of the floor. 

“What,” Carter says, flat.

“Your thing about not dating ‘til you retire is bullshit,” Kevin says, no preamble. “Especially if you also won’t hook up, like, are you just gonna be a fuckin’ hockey monk for the next twenty years?”

Carter puts his face in his hands and sits on the end of his bed. “This was important enough to you that you had to come here at midnight to tell me? You couldn’t have, like, texted me, or brought it up in the morning?”

“Nope,” Kevin says, grinning—well, Carter can’t see his face, but he assumes—”Because I figured out how to prove to you that it’s bullshit, and there’s no time like the present!”

“There are lots of times like the present,” Carter mumbles into his hands, but he lowers them and looks up at Kevin, who is clearly waiting for his cue. Carter considers leaving him hanging, but that doesn’t seem like the option most likely to lead to him getting a good night’s sleep. “Fine, how do you think you’re gonna prove it,” he says, monotone and skeptical.

“By being your fake boyfriend, obviously.”

Carter puts his face back in his hands.

Kevin squawks, offended. “Buddy! That is _not_ the reaction you give a guy when he offers to be your boyfriend. See, you got so much to learn. That’s one of the reasons you practice before meeting somebody you really care about.”

“I don’t think I’d have that reaction if it was somebody I really cared about,” Carter says, not quite managing to veil his frustration. 

He feels the bed sink next to him and looks up to see that Kevin is now sitting down and giving him puppy-dog eyes. “So now you’re saying you don’t _care_ about me? When I’m going out of my way to teach you the power of true love? Hartsy. _Bro_.” Kevin has a hand over his chest, like he’s been shot. He looks like such an idiot. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Carter grits out. 

Kevin’s demeanour changes in an instant. He grins, tosses an arm around Carter’s shoulders, and says, “I know, I’m irresistible. That’s why I knew this was gonna go great.” 

Carter pulls away and stands up, starting to pace. “So it didn’t occur to you that I might not _want_ you to be my boyfriend?” 

Kevin waves a hand. “It doesn’t matter; it’s just for practice.” He leans back on his hands and watches Carter pace for a moment. “Look, you’d think it was impossible to pitch a shutout in the Stanley Cup Final if you never showed up to praccy, right? You practice having a boyfriend, then you’ll see you can do it any time you want. Easy.” 

Carter keeps pacing, thinking through ways to shut this down, but—Kevin can be really stubborn when he wants to be. The whole _Cahtah Haht_ thing is a prime example of that. If Carter argues, there’s a good chance he’ll dig in his heels and get way more obnoxious about it. But maybe if Carter gives in, he’ll get bored of it in like a week and then Carter can get back to his normal life. 

He’s not about to give in without a fight, though. He turns back to Kevin and throws down the one thing he thinks has a chance in hell of scaring Kevin off. “You know being my boyfriend means, like, kissing me. Having sex.”

Because Carter’s life is apparently a joke now, Kevin just grins. “Yeah, dude, totally. I give wicked good blowjobs. Wanna see?” 

Carter goes scarlet. “Haysey, get _out_ of my room.” 

Kevin laughs and does, but not before pecking Carter on the cheek and wishing him good night.

—

Judging by how Kevin—asked him out? Does it qualify as asking someone out if you show up at their hotel room at midnight and proclaim yourself their boyfriend?—Carter is expecting some real shenanigans in the morning. Flowers delivered to his room, maybe, which would be very stupid because they’re flying out today, or holding hands at team breakfast. Something.

But Kevin just acts…normal. Sure, he sits with Carter at breakfast, but he does that anyway sometimes. The only weird thing he does is ask if Carter slept okay, and given how weird Kevin is on a daily basis, that barely even registers on the scale. Certainly nobody else gives them a second look.

Kevin doesn’t sit next to him on the plane, or invite himself over to Carter’s house when they make it back to Philly, or show up at Carter’s place to take him to practice the next day. Carter’s actually starting to wonder if he forgot about the whole idea when Kevin bumps his shoulder after practice and says, “Wanna get lunch, Hartsy?”

“Uh, sure,” Carter says. And here it comes, he’s sure, the full Kevin Hayes Boyfriend Experience.

They end up at an Indian place near the rink. It’s a place the guys go every so often, so there’s nothing weird about it, but Carter’s on edge anyway. It feels weird, knowing that he’s here on a date with Kevin. Normally he wouldn’t think twice about what he ordered, but if he gets the same thing he always gets, is Kevin going to make fun of him for it? Why does he care if Kevin _does_ make fun of him? Kevin makes fun of him about six times a day. It would be weirder if he didn’t.

After staring at his menu way longer than usual, Carter gets the same chicken curry he always gets, and Kevin completely mangles the pronunciation of jalfrezi. It’s clearly _Kevin_ who should be worried about getting made fun of, which Carter knows full well has never occurred to him in his life.

The waiter leaves and Kevin pulls out his phone, which is what Carter would normally do too, but this is a date! That’s rude! Carter knows that’s rude. So he doesn’t take his phone out, he just. Waits. Pretends to be very interested in the decor. The silence feels heavy.

Kevin pockets his phone once their food arrives and still doesn’t say anything, just digs in, and Carter finally can’t take it anymore. He sighs, a bit louder than he meant to, and says, “See, this is why I hate dinner dates.”

Kevin looks up, mouth full of samosa and eyebrows knitted together in a frown, as Carter continues, “It’s not _your_ fault, it’s dating, dating is terrible, and dates over meals are just—so awkward! What do you have to talk about! Whether you know the person or not, it’s like, you have to pay way too much attention to eating neatly and politely, you have to overthink what you order, and you spend most of it just sitting there and staring at each other, not saying anything. It’s the worst.”

As Carter rants, Kevin starts to smile, and when Carter’s done, he says, “Okay. I mean, this isn’t a date, though.”

Carter frowns. “What? But—”

“You didn’t actually say yes when I asked you before, and I’m not some kinda monster,” Kevin says. He leans back a little in his chair. “This was just lunch with my buddy. And I was only not saying anything ‘cause the samosas were too delicious to disrespect them by letting them get cold.” He grins and taps his temple. “But thanks for the tips, Hartsy.” 

Carter groans, embarrassed, and stares down at his food as Kevin continues, “And you’re telling me you overthought what to order and ended up at basic-ass chicken curry? Wow, I’m _impressed_ , you’re so _cultured_.” 

Carter kicks him under the table. “Better than you pronouncing jalfrezi as _jafreezy_.” 

Kevin just laughs, as shameless as Carter knew he would be. “That’s such a sick rap name though! Maybe we can convince Beezer to use that for when his album drops.”

“There’s no A in Joel,” Carter points out. “And wouldn’t Freezy work better for Frosty anyway?” 

Kevin points at him. “Yes,” he says, too loudly. “You’re a genius, Carter. I’m texting him right now.” Kevin pulls out his phone and presumably does that while Carter tries to get control of what his face is doing. 

When Carter looks up, Kevin’s smiling at him, a little softer. “So, since you already thought we were, you ready to be proven wrong about this whole dating business?” 

“No,” Carter says instinctively.

Not to be deterred, Kevin says, “So you’re not _ready_ , ‘cause who could be, but you’re _willing_?” 

Carter sighs and says, “Whatever, Haysey.”

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Kevin informs him.

“I still didn’t say yes,” Carter points out as his last hope, because Kevin did seem concerned about that earlier.

“Technically, you just did, bud,” Kevin says with a truly obnoxious grin. Carter is too mature to throw food at him in this nice restaurant, so he supposes they’re doing this.

—

“Just tell me where we’re going!” Carter says for what must be the hundredth time in the twenty minutes since they got on the highway out of Philly. 

“Nah,” Kevin says. “I’m having too much fun watching you work yourself up.”

“It’s not romantic to kidnap someone, you know,” Carter says.

Kevin laughs. “You got in the car of your own free will, dude.”

“Under false pretences,” Carter argues. “I thought we were going on a date, not leaving the city and going who knows where.” 

“Not seeing why we can’t be doing both,” Kevin says mildly. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Carter says. He crosses his arms and pouts, just for effect. Kevin laughs, so it obviously works.

Carter gives up and watches the clock, questioning his life choices while Kevin taps his fingers along to the music on the radio. After twenty-five minutes of relative silence, Kevin starts slowing down and flips on his blinker at a seemingly random spot on the highway. 

“Where—” Carter starts to ask again, unable to help himself, just before they pass by a large sign declaring the name of a farm. He switches tack. “Okay, so it’s a farm. What are we doing here?” 

“What do you think we’re doing here?” 

Carter shrugs. 

“C’mon, bud, just take a guess! You look like I brought you out here to murder you and bury you in a field. Can’t believe you think I’d do that to the team.”

Carter snorts despite himself. “I don’t think you’re going to murder me—”

“Well, that’s a fuckin’ relief!”

“—but you definitely kidnapped me,” Carter finishes. He smirks at the over-the-top betrayed face Kevin makes. 

“I did not,” Kevin mutters, pulling up next to a line of other cars and parking. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we _going_?” Carter asks loudly, but Kevin is already hopping out of the car, and Carter has to hurry to unbuckle and follow.

Kevin throws his arms out wide to show off the field, as if it clears anything up. “We’re going apple picking!” he crows. He drops his arms. “Happy now?”

Carter is, sort of, but he’s not going to give up the bit at this point. “Apple picking,” he says, flat.

Kevin nods. “You said you didn’t want to do something boring and, like, dinner-date-y, so I wracked the ol’ brain for cute date things and then I thought, Hayesy, you fool, you know exactly what all the WAGs are dragging the guys to do in the fall! Pick apples! It’s great because at the end we have food.” 

Carter is, despite himself, a little bit charmed. He keeps his face carefully blank and raises an eyebrow. 

Kevin huffs and grabs his hand, dragging him past the cars and toward the ticket booth. “You’ll think it’s dope, just wait.”

Kevin pays their admission and gets them a big bag at the booth—”Go big or go home!” he declares when the attendant asks, and Carter hides his grin before Kevin turns to look at him. 

They have to take a wagon out to the orchard, and Kevin makes a show of hopping up into it and then turning to offer his hand to Carter. Carter takes it—it would be too publicly rude to _not_ , after all—and Kevin _beams_ at him. That, coupled with how they have to sit pressed up against each other so everyone can fit on the wagon, has him glad that Kevin strikes up a conversation with the woman driving the wagon so that Carter can just—slow down and take a second. This isn’t at all what he was expecting from Kevin Hayes, Fake Boyfriend. It’s so much…less of a joke than Carter was expecting.

“Got hot intel from my new friend Georgia,” Kevin says when they’ve been dropped off at the orchard. “Best apples are this way.”

“What makes them the best?” Carter asks. 

“Weren’t you listening?” Kevin asks in mock outrage, leading them past the rows of apple trees. “Just kidding, I don’t actually know. But I trust Georgia.”

“Sure, why not,” Carter says. “Georgia knows best.” He follows suit when Kevin turns down a row and starts picking apples and putting them in the bag. “Have you done this before?” 

“Yeah, like, once,” Kevin says. “When I was a kid. But I was, like, knee high to a grasshopper, so I couldn’t really reach the apples. Corn maze was pretty fuckin’ dope, though. Oh shit, and the face painting.” He laughs. “Jimmy got all painted like a cat, so obviously I _also_ had to be a cat, and then he got mad at me for copying and we yelled at each other the whole car ride home.”

“Mhm,” Carter says, amused. “And you only went the once, eh? Wonder why.” 

Kevin drops an apple into the bag and uses the same hand to punch Carter in the arm. “Shut up. Face paint is life or death, dude.”

“You sound like my little sister,” Carter says. “She decided she wanted to _be_ a face painter once, but specifically one who does butterflies, for some reason? And she made me sit while she painted a butterfly on my face so many times. For _hours_.”

Kevin laughs. “She has good taste. Butterflies are cool as fuck.” 

“Okay, but it’s not like she was any good at it,” Carter points out. “She was like six.” 

“Well, I mean, how old were you?”

“Like, ten.”

Kevin nods like he thinks he’s saying something wise. “Super patient older brother.”

“I guess,” Carter says. “She didn’t want to copy me all the time, so, y’know, she was probably less annoying to me than you were to Jimmy.” 

Kevin makes an indignant noise. “I’ll show you annoying,” he threatens, dropping the bag of apples and dragging Carter in to give him a noogie before Carter can duck out of the way. 

Carter tries in vain to get out of Kevin’s grip. “Ugh, stop, you’re gonna bruise our apples!” 

Kevin lets go at that. Carter immediately steps away and tries to smooth down his hair. “Shit, whoops,” Kevin says, inspecting a couple of the apples. He shrugs and drops them back in. “They seem okay.”

“Good,” Carter says. “Let’s keep ‘em that way. Keep your hands to yourself.”

Kevin sighs, shaking his head even as he reaches for another apple. “Not what a date wants to hear, Carter.”

Carter feels his cheeks flush. He resolutely ignores that comment.

Thankfully, the moment passes quickly—Carter doesn’t even think Kevin registered it as weird—and the conversation continues as they keep picking apples. Before Carter knows it, the bag is full.

“Back to the shop out front?” Kevin asks. “I wanna get cider. And donuts.”

Carter nods. “Let’s see if we can flag down Georgia.”

They catch the wagon just before it makes a trip back. As they’re heading toward the shop, they pass by a long line of eager-looking children. Carter looks past them to see the face painting booth and elbows Kevin in the side. “You wanna be a cat again?” he teases.

Kevin looks like he’s seriously considering it, which Carter really should have expected. “Long line,” he says after a second, sounding genuinely regretful. “And probably not the place to play the ‘I’m an NHL player’ card, huh?” 

Carter laughs. “No, probably not. Kinda cool that we even have that card, though.”

Kevin grins. “Yeah, doesn’t really ever get old.”

“We can relive your childhood glory days in the corn maze after we get cider,” Carter suggests. “Might bring back less trauma, anyway.”

“Too right,” Kevin says. 

—

"Okay," Carter says, staring down at his sink, which is newly full of clean apples, "now what?" 

Kevin doesn't immediately answer. Carter looks up at him in askance, taking in the way he's casually leaning against the counter and avoiding Carter's gaze.

"Now what?" Carter repeats, suspicion growing.

"Weeeeeeeell," Kevin says, high-pitched, looking somewhere over Carter's head.

"What."

"This is where I admit that my plan ended after the apples were picked, and when I said we should go back to yours and you assumed that of course we would need to do something with them…"

Carter turns toward him and raises his eyebrows.

Kevin finally makes eye contact and shrugs. "I thought I'd follow your lead." 

"This is so many apples!" Carter says, aghast. "I don't know how to bake! What are we supposed to do?" 

"We can give them to someone who does know how to bake," Kevin says dismissively, clearly not taking this seriously.

"Who do we know that can bake?! And are they going to appreciate a metric ton of unannounced apples? Because let me tell you, I'm n—”

Kevin cuts him off by reaching out and sliding his hands over Carter's hips, tugging him in so their hips are pressed together. Carter stumbles a little in surprise and catches himself, hands pressed to Kevin's shoulders. "Hartsy, bud," Kevin says seriously, his breath warm against Carter's lips, "chill. We'll figure it out later."

"Oh? Then what are we doing now?" Carter asks petulantly, even though he's now much more interested in fisting his hands in Kevin's shirt and pulling him in those last few inches than continuing to argue.

Kevin laughs, low and soft. "Thought I'd treat you to one of my wicked good blowjobs. You know, since I'm your fake boyfriend and all." 

Carter is, suddenly and literally, breathless. What the fuck. Sure, Kevin is hot, but since when does he have _this_ much of an effect on Carter?

And then Kevin takes advantage of Carter not saying anything to drop to his knees and start unbuckling Carter's belt, and holy _fuck_ , Carter is half-hard and entirely desperate.

"Wait," he manages as Kevin is undoing his fly.

Kevin glances up at him, one eyebrow raised. "Hm?" 

"Not here."

"What, you a sex in the bed only kinda dude? I can rock with it, but you gotta know that I'm gonna work on fixing that, bro, because—"

"No, I don't care," Carter interrupts. "But the tile is bad for your knees and I already feel like I'm going to fall over, so. C'mon."

He reaches for Kevin's upper arm and starts tugging him toward the living room, ignoring the way a shit-eating grin is spreading across Kevin's face. "Oh, really?" he says, getting to his feet and following after Carter. "Gonna fall over and I haven't even gotten your dick out. I'm so flattered, Hartsy, really and truly, I had no idea that you were so into me. I mean, why wouldn't you be, but still, you know a dude loves to hear it. Or have you just been that hard-up this whole time? I'm so glad I came up with this plan, dude, because—”

"Hayesy, shut up," Carter says, pushing Kevin down in front of the couch. To his surprise, Kevin does, sinking to his knees more gracefully than Carter expected. Carter decides not to think about that too hard and sits down in front of him. He picks up one of the throw pillows next to him and hands it to Kevin. "For under your knees."

Kevin nods and situates himself. "You happy now?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before running his hands up the inside of Carter's thighs. "Ready? Any other creature comforts you think we need?" 

Carter shakes his head. "Think we're good."

"Good," Kevin says, and then he's mouthing at Carter's dick through his underwear. Carter bites back a moan, and Kevin hums thoughtfully. "All that bossiness is just bluster to cover how easy you actually are for this, isn’t it?"

"What am I supposed to do when you're on your knees for me?" Carter asks, threading a hand through Kevin's hair and resisting the urge to put him exactly where he wants him. "Not enjoy it?" 

"'Course not," Kevin says. "I like that you’re bossy _and_ easy. Keeps me guessing." 

Carter is about to say something totally witty about containing multitudes or what the fuck ever—he's sure it would've been a real zinger—but then Kevin shoves down Carter's underwear and gets his mouth around Carter's dick, and Carter isn't having any thoughts at all that aren't _more, more, please more_ , as Kevin sucks him.

Kevin gets him fully hard before pulling off to say, nonchalant, "You can push me around if you want," glancing pointedly upward at Carter's hand in his hair. 

Carter can't hold back his moan at that, and he immediately tightens his grip on Kevin's hair and pushes him back down. Kevin groans around Carter's dick and seems to redouble his efforts.

"Fuck," Carter swears. "Shit, you weren't kidding about being wicked good. Fuck, Kevin."

Kevin laughs, as much as he can with his mouth full. It feels like it reverberates through Carter's whole body, and he can't help but thrust up. Kevin just takes it, easy as that, bracing himself with his fingers digging into Carter's hips, and Carter swears again.

Much as Carter didn't want to think about it and didn't want to hear Kevin say it, it really has been a while since he's had sex. That and how fucking good Kevin apparently is at it has him close to the edge earlier than he'd like to be. He pulls Kevin off him and takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Wait, just—wait."

"What is it now?" Kevin asks—practically whines, which doesn't help matters at all. He tries to lean back in, pulling against Carter's grip. "I'm good, Hartsy, just let me—"

"S'too fast," Carter slurs. "Need a min."

"You gonna come?" Kevin asks. "That's okay, baby, I want you to. I can take it."

"Fuck." Carter relaxes his grip and Kevin practically dives back in. Carter would like to see the man who could resist coming down Kevin's throat immediately when he acts that desperate for it and maybe ask that man for tips, because he is not nearly strong enough.

He collapses back against the couch, a sense of calm spreading over him in the wake of his orgasm. Kevin pulls off and wipes at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning up at Carter. 

"You okay, babe?" he teases. "I wasn't too much for you, was I?" 

Carter smiles back at him, his brain slowly coming back online. "Where did you get a mouth that dirty?" he shoots back, half teasing, half genuinely wondering.

"Oh, bro," Kevin says, solemn. "You ain't seen nothing yet."

Carter laughs in spite of himself. "Jesus, shut up and come here," he says, holding out his arms.

"What for? You gonna kiss my dirty mouth?" Kevin asks, crawling into Carter's lap. "You gonna show me what's what? You gonna—"

Carter cuts him off by palming his dick through his jeans. Kevin's head falls back, and he grinds into Carter's hand.

"Shameless," Carter observes. 

"What is there to be ashamed about?" Kevin asks, voice breathy. "A dude can't get hard sucking his fake boyfriend's dick?" 

"A dude can," Carter says, watching Kevin continue to work himself against Carter in fascination. He feels half-drunk with power.

"Does a dude get to—" Carter starts to undo Kevin's jeans, and Kevin's faux-casual tone immediately falls away. "Fuck, Carts, touch me."

"What's that?" Carter asks, ghosting his fingers over Kevin's erection. 

"Touch me, fuck, c'mon."

Carter puts his other hand on the back of Kevin's neck and drags him down, brushing his lips behind Kevin's ear. "Not very polite."

"Please," Kevin says immediately. "Please, I want you."

Carter gives Kevin what he wants, wrapping his hand firmly around Kevin's dick, and is gratified by the way Kevin moans and drops his forehead to Carter's shoulder. Carter bites his lip, realizing just how much Kevin's dick is already dripping, and coats his palm in it, stroking Kevin hard and fast. "There," he murmurs into Kevin's ear, "you can have all you want of me."

Kevin groans, his hips working into Carter's hand faster. He drags his head up and presses his lips against Carter's, less of a kiss than a desperation-tinted question, and Carter answers by opening his mouth, kissing Kevin back wet and sloppy.

Kevin's body starts to shake against Carter, and Carter works his dick faster, murmuring encouragement into Kevin's mouth until Kevin goes still, coming all over Carter's hand and stomach.

"Fuck," both of them say at the same time. They lock eyes and laugh. 

"Shit," Kevin adds, slumping back down again. "You're fuckin' talented, bro."

"You're fucking hot," Carter says. He feels a little weird all of a sudden, a little exposed and raw. "And fucking heavy," he adds to deflect, shoving at Kevin's hips a little.

"Let a bro recover," Kevin complains without heat. He slides to the side, letting his legs drape over Carter's and burrowing into Carter's side. "I need cuddles after you make me come that hard, bud. Fuckin'…looking all hot picking apples all day."

It's a little nonsensical, but Carter is content to let it be instead of thinking about it. He wipes his hand on Kevin's shirt just to be a brat about it, and Kevin huffs at him but otherwise doesn't move.

They're quiet for barely a minute before Kevin starts talking again.

"Dude, that was _fun_. Not that I thought it wasn't gonna be fun, but it was, like, next-level fun. Being fake boyfriends is awesome. At this rate, I'm gonna have you convinced that you can have love and hockey at the same time in no time at all."

Carter's stomach inexplicably flips uncomfortably at that. "Haysey, shhhh," he mumbles into Kevin's hair. "We're having a moment."

"Oh, right, sure." Kevin snuggles into Carter more. "Me 'n' Cahtah Haht, having a moment."

Carter sighs.

—

The really unfortunate thing is that it’s not just blowjobs that Kevin’s _wicked good_ at. That much becomes pretty apparent over the next couple of weeks. 

The Flyers head out west pretty early in the season this year for their California swing. They start off in San Jose, landing early thanks to the time difference, and Carter isn’t quite sure what he’s going to do with himself. Kevin solves that problem for him by rapping on his door almost exactly as Carter finishes hanging up his suits. 

“Yo, Hartsy, snack run?” Kevin suggests, and—sure, fuck it, why not. 

Carter follows him out of the hotel, but when Kevin turns left and starts walking down the sidewalk rather than calling an Uber or something, Carter has to ask, “Do you know where we’re going?” 

“I’ve got Google, bud,” Kevin says, offended. 

“Cool,” Carter says, falling into step next to him. “Just checking. If you’d thought this through as well as you did the apple thing, I didn’t wanna end up hooking up in an alley somewhere and getting arrested for indecent exposure.”

Kevin cracks up, almost doubling over with it. “Holy fuck, Hartsy, can you imagine? Gettin’ bailed out of jail by AV?”

“He wouldn’t come himself, he’d send somebody,” Carter points out, grinning.

“Nah, but what if he did, though? The look on his face…” Kevin says, followed by a just truly terrible imitation of AV’s disappointed face.

Carter snorts. “He might leave us there to make a point,” he points out, and Kevin laughs again. And then, the least subtle that anyone has ever been, he reaches into the pocket of Carter’s hoodie to take his hand and hold it. 

Carter gives him a _look_ , and Kevin says, “What? A guy can’t hold his fake boyfriend’s hand?” 

“That’s not—” Carter says, and then he stops, sighs. “Sure.” Kevin’s hand is warm, and it’s a little breezy outside. It’s…nice, Carter can admit that. Plus, it’s California, nobody gives a shit who they are here.

A block or so later, they walk up to a Whole Foods, and Carter turns to glance at Kevin. “You eat healthy shit, like, didn’t you say last week you were trying to avoid artificial dyes? And a lot of the stuff at the rink is fake as shit, so,” Kevin says, shrugging, as he grabs them a basket. “We’re on the road for like a week, you gotta stay fueled up, Hartsy.”

Carter feels _too_ warm now. He’s definitely blushing. He hadn’t realized Kevin had been paying that much attention to what he said. But Kevin’s acting like it’s no big deal, so Carter squeezes his hand and says, “Thanks,” and Kevin doesn’t mention how soft his tone is.

Instead, Kevin drags him over to the produce section and says loudly, “Okay, let’s see, what do rabbits eat? Lettuce, carrots…” 

Carter steps on his foot. “The hotel’s gonna give us fruit and veggies,” he points out.

“Do they?” Kevin says, playing dumb. Carter’s pretty sure. He’s almost positive he saw Kevin eating a banana last week.

Either way, he’s going to assume Kevin isn’t that dumb for his own sanity, so he says, “Protein. Maybe some trail mix?” and tugs Kevin over that way, so he can read some labels. 

“Oooh, this one has chocolate in it,” Kevin says, dropping Carter’s hand to pick up a pack.

“I don’t eat dairy,” Carter reminds him.

Kevin raises his eyebrows. “Not even _chocolate_?” 

“…not on game days,” Carter admits.

Kevin grins, tosses the pack in the basket. “I won’t snitch, cross my heart.” He crosses his heart, like the huge nerd he is, and then the pun occurs to him and he says, “Ha! Cross my _Haht_ ,” and he leans over like he’s gonna try to cross _Carter’s_ heart.

Carter shoves him off, complaining, “Oh my _God_ , you’re the worst,” and Kevin catches his hand and holds it again. 

“I’m the best,” he says, confident. 

—

They don’t, like, spend the whole road trip attached at the hip, or anything. They’ve got their own friends. But Kevin gets up earlier than he does and he has a cup of coffee ready for Carter at team breakfast every morning with half a pack of sugar in it, just how Carter likes it. And Carter blows Kevin in his hotel room after he scores in OT against the Ducks. That part’s easy. 

What’s less easy is that Carter spends the whole trip playing like total garbage. He lets in six against the Sharks and five against the Knights and then gets fucking pulled against the Yotes. There’s a traitorous little part of his brain that’s trying to tell Carter this is why he doesn’t date, when he’s happy he’s not thinking about hockey enough, and that means he doesn’t want it enough to win.

He’s sitting by himself on the plane home, big headphones on as a clear fuck off signal, but that’s the kind of thing Kevin Hayes has been ignoring his entire life. When Kevin drops into the seat next to him, Carter glares at him, and Kevin taps his own head to indicate that Carter should take off his headphones. Which he does, intending to tell Kevin to go away, but of course Kevin starts talking before he can.

“On the way out here, you were curled up so weird, it made my neck hurt just looking at ya, Hartsy,” he says easily. “And I got world class shoulders just going to waste sitting next to Teeks, he’s way too hyper to nap on the plane.”

“Haysey…” Carter says, but Kevin waves him off.

“Seriously. Put your head on my shoulder and tell me it’s not like, fuckin’, memory foam. The My Pillow Guy hasn’t seen shit, if he thinks his bags of rocks compare to this.”

It’s the same exact kind of stupid nonsense Kevin is always saying, and it _should_ be getting on Carter’s nerves, as on edge as he is right now. But he’s been thoroughly Stockholmed by this whole fake boyfriend thing, because he’s finding it sort of…soothing. 

Carter puts his head on Kevin’s shoulder. To his immense frustration, it is actually very comfortable, and Kevin smells nice. He’s a good height for this, too, relative to Carter. “It’s comfortable,” he admits.

“Right?” Kevin says, and then Carter sits up and Kevin narrows his eyebrows at him. “Uh-uh, come on, lay back down,” Kevin insists. “You deserve a good nap after we fuckin’ tried to work you to death, just gave up on the whole idea of defense.”

“It wasn’t that many shots, I just played like shit,” Carter argues, quiet. 

“Nope,” Kevin says firmly. “I can tell you’re exhausted because you’re talkin’ total garbage, and you’re usually a pretty smart guy, Hartsy. Nap.” 

Carter means to insist that he really didn’t play well, because he _didn’t_ , but. Kevin’s maybe right about him being exhausted. So. He puts his head back on Kevin’s shoulder, relaxes incrementally. Kevin tosses a blanket over both of them, and Carter’s out before they’re in the air. 

—

After their horrible road trip, Carter fully intends to tell Kevin that Kevin has officially lost the stupid competition or bet or whatever this whole fake boyfriends thing has been. Carter's shitty play is proof that Kevin was wrong and having a boyfriend, fake or not, _is_ distracting for Carter. Carter's ready to gloat about it and move on. He really is. 

"Kevin," he says as they're leaving the airport.

"Yeah, ‘sup? Yo, I was thinking, we should pick up sushi on the way to mine? I’m so ready to just sack out on the couch.”

That sounds…really nice. Carter decides he’s too tired to argue right now.

“Hayesy,” he says as they get in the car after practice a few days later.

“Hm?” Kevin says, fiddling with his phone. Carter opens his mouth, and a podcast Carter told Kevin he should listen to, like, two weeks ago starts playing on the car’s speakers.

“Nothing,” Carter says.

The next week, Kevin follows Carter into his hotel room in New Jersey. Carter turns around, about to tell him that he needs to leave because Carter is too distracted, just like he said he would be, but Kevin kisses him.

They win that game decisively. In fact, before Carter knows it, the team has won four games in a row, all while Kevin is still being an unbelievably thoughtful and hot fake boyfriend. Carter is slowly starting to realize that, actually, _he_ might be the one who's lost the bet. Because, like, it's not that Carter doesn't want to do anything but hang out with Kevin, because he does still have his routines and other friends to see. It's just that when he's not doing those things, he wants to spend time with Kevin, and there's nothing and no one to stop him. 

They end up going on a lot of dates over the next week and change—low effort ones that are mostly a precursor to hooking up, like grabbing a drink or going for a walk or just chilling on one of their couches.

They head to Kevin's after one such date, Carter having threatened to kick Kevin's ass at Mario. Kevin's distracting, though, and Carter's pretty much forgotten about that threat by the time they get there. He pushes Kevin up against the wall just inside the door and kisses him hard. "You're a tease," he says against Kevin's lips.

"Who, me?" Kevin says.

Carter makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. "You knew exactly what you were doing with your foot under the table at that bar, don't pretend you didn't." 

"My foot? No, I think you're mistaken." Kevin shakes his head, looking regretful. His hands are on Carter's ass, though, so he's not even close to fooling anyone.

Carter kisses him again, and they lazily make out against the wall for a little bit before Kevin pulls back and says, "Y'know there are softer surfaces here, right?"

"Too far," Carter says, leaning in again.

Kevin laughs and ducks out of the way. "We should see where Pat's at."

Carter sighs and steps back to let Kevin start walking. He plasters himself to Kevin's back, though, because anytime he's not touching Kevin basically feels like a waste. Plus, he likes to see how much Kevin will tolerate. So far, the limit doesn't seem to exist.

Kevin stops at the threshold of the living room and says, noticeably quieter than his usual decibel level but just as enthusiastic, "Pat! How ya feeling, dude?" 

Carter considers letting Kevin go, but quickly abandons the idea. It's not like he and Kevin are telegraphing this whole relationship thing, but Nolan lives here, and so by now he's probably seen worse.

Nolan confirms that by immediately rolling his eyes and getting up from where he was lying on the couch. "M'fine, but I gotta leave before that changes. You two start like 30% of my migraines with your soft bullshit."

Kevin laughs. "Shut up, man. You jealous?"

Nolan snorts. "As if." 

Carter's pretty sure Nolan is kidding about the migraine thing, but he feels a little guilty, anyway—Nolan shouldn't have to leave when he lives here, after all. It must show on his face, because Nolan mumbles at him, "Not really, but it is gross," as he passes by them and down the hall to his room.

Carter can't argue with that. 

Kevin drags Carter over to the couch and flops down where Nolan was, pulling Carter down with him. He picks up the TV remote. "You still wanna play a game or should we just Netflix and chill?"

He waggles his eyebrows, which should not make Carter want to skip straight to chill but does anyway. He restrains himself. Sort of. "Netflix."

They pick a stupid action movie that Carter has no desire to pay even the slightest bit of attention to. Which is fine, because he's busy wrapping himself around Kevin as much as possible, burying his face half in Kevin's neck and snuggling in.

"Can you even see from there?" Kevin teases.

"Mmhmm.” Carter presses his toes, freezing from his dumb decision to wear runners in late October, against Kevin's legs, and Kevin jumps.

"Christ, you're cold.” Carter expects him to move away, but instead he says, "Give those toes here, bro, I'll warm 'em up for you. Gotta do something with all this extra body heat.”

Kevin makes good on that promise, situating them so they’re both under a blanket, Carter basically lying on top of Kevin with his toes tucked under Kevin’s legs. It’s way comfier than Carter would’ve expected, and it’s not long before he nods off, all thoughts of the _chill_ part of the evening lost in the face of cozy cuddles.

When Carter wakes up in the middle of the night and realizes what happened, he allows himself twenty seconds to stare at Kevin’s sleeping face before waking him up and dragging him to bed. He doesn’t want Kevin to need to complain about his back in the morning. That’s soft as fuck, but whatever.

Really, everything about this situation is soft as fuck when Carter thinks about it, which…

Wait.

Fuck.

—

So Carter has maybe caught real feelings for Kevin. 

In retrospect, that was perhaps an obvious next step from ‘enjoying this fake relationship thing,’ but it’s just not at all where Carter expected this to go. He’s also fully aware that, like, _talking_ to Kevin about this would be a mortifying ordeal. What if Kevin hasn’t caught feelings yet, and then it’s super awkward, and Carter will have to request to be released to the KHL to get away from it all?

It just seems easier to focus his efforts on being a really good fake boyfriend. If he’s good enough at it, Kevin will surely start having feelings for him eventually, and then they never have to have any embarrassing conversations.

Plan decided upon, Carter kicks things off by downloading a free app that tells him one dad joke a day, because Kevin responds to puns and other terrible humor with childlike glee. And it’s sort of cute, so Carter gets something out of it too.

The next day is a game day, and he’s opening the meditation app on his phone when he gets a notification from the joke app, so he launches that instead. “Hey, Haysey,” he calls out. “How do you get ready for a party in outer space?”

Kevin looks over at him and tilts his head. “Huh?” he says, brows furrowed.

“You planet,” Carter says, smirking. He _sees_ the gears click together in Kevin’s head, and then Kevin lets out a great belly laugh. 

“Oh my god, that’s _terrible_. I mean, it’s _great_ , but it’s—Yo, G, how do you get ready for a party in outer space?” he calls out, getting louder at the end to address Claude.

Claude raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m right here, man. I heard Hartsy say the punchline.”

“You planet!” Kevin says joyfully, completely ignoring what Claude had said. 

So, that becomes a part of Carter’s gameday routine pretty quickly. Right before a ten minute meditation at T-20 to warmups, he mentally slots in ‘Tell Kevin a terrible joke.’

—

"But where are we going?" Kevin asks.

Carter smirks at him from the driver’s seat of his car. "Doesn't feel so good from over there, does it?"

“Gotta admit it’s less funny, yeah,” Kevin says easily. “But I’m definitely touched already. This has gotta be romantic if you’re keeping it a secret.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Carter lies.

“I think it does,” Kevin says. “Hmm, can’t be a candlelit dinner, you would hate that…but we’re not heading out of town, so…” He muses for barely a second, then shakes his head. “You’ve got me beat, just tell me.”

“I never said this was a guessing game.”

“Ugh, c’mon,” Kevin whines. “Give me a hint.”

“No.”

“ _Hartsy_.” 

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Don’t bat your eyelashes at me, you look fucking ridiculous.”

“You like my eyelashes,” Kevin points out. “You said so.”

Carter has, unfortunately, said so. He hates his soft post-orgasm self. 

When Carter doesn’t respond to that, Kevin just keeps talking, making outlandish guesses about where they’re going that Carter doesn’t bother dignifying for the rest of the drive.

“Wait…” Kevin says as they’re turning into the parking garage. “We’re pretty close to Lincoln.”

Carter steadfastly says nothing.

“Bro. Dude. Carter. Babe.”

Carter’s lucky enough to find a parking spot pretty quick. He shuts off the car and unzips his hoodie to reveal a Patriots jersey he stole from Kevin’s closet.

Kevin practically shrieks when Carter turns toward him. “Dude! The Pats game?! I knew it! So it _is_ a romantic outing? Hartsy, you shouldn’t have!” 

“Ugh, shut up,” Carter mumbles. “I didn’t say anything about romance.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Kevin says cheerfully. “You’re wearing _that!_ I thought you were an Eagles fan.”

“I am,” Carter says, which is true in as much as he cares about the NFL at all. “You’re not allowed to ever tell anyone about me wearing this. And I mean _ever_.” He zips his hoodie up, gets out of the car, and starts walking. 

Kevin hurries to catch up with him and immediately grabs Carter’s hand when he does. He practically skips next to him. “I’m so hype, man, you have no idea.”

Carter can’t help but smile at him. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Kevin stops walking, pulling Carter back abruptly. He makes a show of looking left and right before leaning in to kiss Carter, and Carter has to hold back his laugh to kiss him back.

“Thank you,” Kevin says, voice uncharacteristically soft, his face still close to Carter’s. 

Carter swallows hard and nods. He knew Kevin would like this, he just maybe wasn’t fully prepared for how much he would like Kevin liking it.

“What do I have to do to get you to take off the hoodie when we’re inside?” Kevin asks as they start walking again.

“More than you can promise me,” Carter says immediately.

“Hm,” Kevin says, “I’ll figure something out.”

“Sure you will,” Carter says as doubtfully as possible, even though he’s sort of afraid that Kevin might actually, somehow, get his way.

They haven’t even made it to their seats inside before Kevin drags Carter toward a concession. “I _need_ crab fries,” he declares. “And beer! You gonna buy me a drink, Hartsy?” 

“Pretty sure you can afford your own beer,” Carter says.

Kevin gasps, affecting a shocked look. “Didn’t you ask me on this date?” he says. “Doesn’t that mean you’re buying?”

Carter opens his mouth to argue, then remembers he’s trying to be the ideal fake boyfriend, and closes it again. 

Kevin looks smug. “That’s what I thought.”

Carter buys Kevin his damn crab fries and beer. At least it means he feels absolutely no shame about stealing fries from Kevin, no matter how much Kevin tries to chirp him about it. 

"Hey," Kevin says near the end of the first quarter, voice low, elbowing Carter in the side. When Carter makes eye contact with him, he makes a show of licking the seasoning from the crab fries off his fingers seductively. It's obviously a joke, and it’s objectively gross and stupid as hell, but Carter finds himself staring. He feels both turned on and fond, which is a combination he’s pretty sure he’s never experienced before. 

Carter shakes himself out of it and hits Kevin in the shoulder. "We're in public," he hisses.

Kevin just laughs. 

If Carter had been paying attention to the game before that, he absolutely isn’t anymore, and it’s only partially because he only casually cares about the Eagles. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t care more, because the Patriots win and Kevin immediately goes full insufferable Boston sports bro, crowing at all the irritated fans around them about how the Superbowl was a fluke. Carter has to practically drag him out of the stadium before he gets jumped and video of it ends up on the internet. It’s obnoxious as hell, but Kevin’s happy, so God help him, Carter thinks it was worth it anyway.

—

The next week is American Thanksgiving, and Carter’s fully prepared for it to be weird and sort of anticlimactic. He’d called his family on real Thanksgiving last month and felt kind of guilty for missing it, like he always does, even though he’s been missing all kinds of stuff since he started getting serious about hockey. Anyway, all that means is that for him, today’s basically like any other off day, except there’s a thing at G’s later for whichever guys don’t have wives and kids to celebrate with. 

He’s curled up on the sofa, reading a book Moose recommended and thinking vaguely that he should probably pick up some wine to take to G’s, when his phone pings. It’s a snap from Nolan. Carter thumbs open his phone to look; it’s a video, so he turns up the sound.

The video is of Kevin, having an adorably impassioned argument with a small child about which zoo animal is the scariest, including both of them making all the noises. There are other conversations happening in the background and a TV blaring too; it’s a very loud video and Carter turns the sound down again almost at once, but not so quiet that he can’t hear Kevin trying to make a trumpeting elephant sound and failing horribly. 

Nolan’s caption says _this is the permanent hearing loss you’re missing out on_ , and Carter’s confused. Did he get the time wrong on G’s thing? He replays the snap, but no, that’s Kevin’s place, and he doesn’t recognize any other teammates in the background. 

Missing out, Nolan had said. Carter is pretty sure he didn’t turn down any invitations, but it occurs to him that Boston is really not that far away from Philadelphia. But if Kevin was going to have family over, wouldn’t he have invited Carter? Carter’s his boyfriend. Everyone wants their families to see them in happy, stable relationships. Even if those relationships are fake. Right?

He replies to Nolan with a simple _?_ because that seems like the safest way to figure this out. _hayesey invited half of boston for american thanksgiving_ Nolan replies, and then, _why aren’t you here?_

Why isn’t Carter there indeed. He feels a little sick to his stomach. Carter’s been increasingly sure that this isn’t really fake for him, not anymore, and he thought that Kevin would come around, but if Kevin doesn’t even want Carter to meet his family…maybe not? Maybe it is still a weird favour slash bet to him?

Carter doesn’t know what to say to Nolan. He closes Snapchat, shoves his phone between the cushions, and tries to go back to his book, which pretty much means reading the same page over and over without anything sinking in. 

—

After that, Carter’s pretty sure he has to break up with Kevin. Kevin’s clearly made his point, Carter has had a boyfriend for a while now and kept on playing just fine, so there’s no reason for them to keep dating now. That’s the speech Carter practices in his mirror, at least, until he can say it with a convincingly blank expression.

The problem is the timing. They have a quick trip up to Montreal two days after Thanksgiving, followed by a week and a half at home, which includes a Friday night off. A few weeks ago, Carter had lost a stupid and very embarrassing bet to Kevin about blowjobs and Kevin had declared that his victory condition was that Carter would go on a date with him to his favorite bar’s karaoke night. That was Friday nights, and the one next week was the first Friday they had off at home after Carter had lost, so he’s had an all-caps reminder on his calendar, courtesy of Kevin, for weeks.

It’s not exactly that Carter is looking _forward_ to karaoke at a dive bar with Kevin, who absolutely cannot sing, but…he knows Kevin is. Besides, he lost the bet, so he has to hold up his end of the deal and go to the stupid bar. Which means he absolutely cannot break up with Kevin for another week at least. It’s just about the bet, it’s not at all a stalling tactic. Stalling the inevitable would be absurd. 

“I’m telling you, Carter, you’re gonna fuckin’ love this place,” Kevin says for at least the seventh time that night as their Uber pulls up outside the bar.

“Mmhmm,” Carter replies skeptically, for at least the seventh time. It’s just to wind Kevin up at this point. The bar looks…fine? A little sketchy, but not really distinguishable from any other bar on any other street in Philly. 

When they walk in the door, though, the bartender and three people seated at the bar turn and greet Kevin by name, loud enough to be heard over the crowd, and now Carter understands. “How’d you find this place, again?” he asks, as Kevin finds a path to the bar and tugs Carter along in his wake.

“I just kinda ended up here one night and everybody was so cool I stayed until closing,” Kevin shouts back. Translation: he wandered in and was immediately crowned king of the bar. Which is a thing that happens to Kevin pretty much any time he meets strangers, it seems. 

“Happy Friday, Ray my man! How’s it hangin’?” Kevin says to the bartender with a wide grin.

“Was going pretty good until I saw your name on the karaoke signup list and realized I left my earplugs at home,” the bartender jokes. “And what’s this? Did you bring _Cahtah Haht_ , saviour of Philly, into my little bar?”

Carter flushes, but Kevin breezes past it easily. “Don’t make his head any bigger or he’ll have to get a new mask.”

“Well, he deserves it,” Ray says, laughing. “What can I get you boys?” 

And that’s all the fuss he makes about it, which is a relief, and that seems to be the way the whole bar goes: lots of people greet Kevin by name, and he knows all their names in response, but nobody acts starstruck or asks them for an autograph. “How often do you _come_ here, knowing everybody’s name like that?” Carter says once they find a table. 

“Not that often? I just got a good memory for names and faces,” Kevin says, shrugging. “Plus most people here are regulars.”

“Still, that’s pretty cool of you,” Carter says, a little softness creeping into his voice. “I’m sure a lot of people are flattered that a hotshot NHL player remembers who they are.”

Kevin laughs, scratches the back of his neck. “I’m just a regular guy, Hartsy.”

“I can think of a lot of words I’d use to describe you, but _regular_ is definitely not one of them,” Carter fires back, deadpan. 

Kevin laughs again, easy, and Carter’s hit with a wave of how much he’s going to miss this, once he breaks up with Kevin. He knows he has to, but the two of them just fit together so well…Carter’s apartment feels lonely when he’s in it without Kevin these days, to say nothing of all the airplanes and hotel rooms. How’s he supposed to have this and then give it up, go back to Kevin just chirping him as he heads onto the ice, and not spending a significant portion of his days coming up with ways to make Carter smile? 

Fortunately, Carter’s pulled out of that train of thought before he can get too melancholy about it by the karaoke announcer calling Kevin’s name. Kevin flashes him a grin and bounds up to the stage, where he leans down to whisper to the guy running the machine before taking the microphone.

“What is up, party people!” he booms into the microphone. Carter knows Philly crowds from playing in front of them several times a week, and he knows the usual response to something like that is pointed nonobservance, an aggressive refusal to cheer on cue: they’ll cheer when _they_ want to cheer, and fuck you for trying to tell them different. But they cheer for Kevin here, because they adore him, which is pretty much what happens at the rink too. Carter knows the feeling. 

“I was gonna treat you all to another stunning rendition of Sugar, but we’re getting into December now…” Kevin produces a Santa hat from Carter has no _idea_ where; his jeans are too tight for it to have been in a pocket. “And I got a buddy here tonight, so I thought I’d do a little ditty in his honor.”

Carter’s face goes red and his stomach drops as a familiar, twinkling series of notes plays over the bar speakers. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas…” Kevin croons into the mic, nowhere near the appropriate key. 

People start laughing, and it does feel like they’re mostly laughing with Kevin instead of at him, but Carter still kind of wishes the floor would open up underneath him, because this is _too much_. “There is just one thing I need,” Kevin continues.

But then…when _isn’t_ Kevin too much? “I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree,” he sings, and Carter is just fully in over his head here, because he’s starting to realize that he’s as endeared by this as he is embarrassed by it. 

Kevin keeps singing. His voice cracks when he tries to hold ‘you’ for too long at too high of a pitch, and people laugh, but then he jumps off the stage and starts directing lines at the people seated near the stage. The microphone he has is not wireless. It’s a complete disaster, and somehow Carter can’t stop smiling. 

When Carter realized he was starting to have feelings for Kevin, he panicked, because it caught him off-guard. But while he’s watching Kevin give an objectively horrible holiday-themed karaoke performance at a dive bar in South Philly, the thought pops into his head: _I love this idiot_. And it’s not a surprise. It’s more like, _oh, of course_. 

From there, it’s easy. Carter’s not going to break up with Kevin to spare himself embarrassment. He _loves_ him. He’s going to be brave and actually go after what he wants, because this thing they have, no matter what a confusing mess it’s turned into since starting as Kevin going to absurd lengths to prove a point, is worth it. 

Kevin points at him when he sings the last, longest “All I want for Christmas is _you_ ,” and misses the high note by several kilometres. Normally, Carter would have covered his face and tried to pretend he was anywhere else, but now? He just laughs along and thinks _Honestly, same_. 

—

It’s late when Carter and Kevin get back to Kevin’s place, and even later by the time they’re lying draped over each other on the dry side of Kevin’s bed. Carter is tired, but his brain won’t stop spinning its wheels on stupid soft things Carter can’t possibly say out loud right now, like _I love you, let’s do this forever, be my boyfriend for real, you were right, it’s not distracting when it’s you._

It’s both tooth-rotting and totally useless to him right now. He’s planning on saying something a lot more coherent, just as soon as he puts the right words together. Not right now. Tomorrow, probably.

“I want pie,” Kevin says to the ceiling. One of his hands is idly stroking Carter’s hair. “I think there’s still some in the kitchen, we had way too much at Thanksgiving. Unless Patty ate it all, but I’ll kick his ass if he did. Can’t be doctor-approved.”

“You gonna go get it?” Carter asks, his face pressed into Kevin’s chest. He thinks again about how much he wishes he’d been here for Thanksgiving with Kevin’s family. Maybe he’ll start there when he brings up the whole love thing.

Kevin makes like he’s going to get up, moving barely an inch before he flops back down with a theatrical groan. “Can’t, too far.”

“Lazy,” Carter mumbles. It’s insane how much effort Kevin puts into fake dating, Carter muses. He wonders if it’ll be the same when he’s doing it for real. Like, _all I want for Christmas is you_? Next level. Maybe Kevin’s been serious the whole time, and Carter is only just catching up. Maybe he should ask.

Kevin cuddles closer to Carter. “Cozy,” he corrects. 

“Come home for Christmas with me,” Carter says.

 _Wait, what?_ That…was not the coherent thing he wanted to say. At all.

“What?” Kevin says.

Carter shifts up on the bed a little. “We’re playing in Edmonton before Christmas,” he says, because at this point there’s no way out but through. “You could come home with me. Meet my parents. And my sister. And…yeah.”

Kevin raises an eyebrow, glancing pointedly down at their lack of clothes. “Dude, you’re bringing this up…right now?”

“Shut up, I’m tired and you sang that stupid song,” Carter mumbles. “About Christmas. You know.”

Kevin gasps in mock outrage, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at Carter. “How _dare_ you call Mariah Carey stupid?”

Carter rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Kevin shakes his head. “We’ll come back to that, but—”

“We won’t.”

“We will,” Kevin assures him. “But yeah, sure, Hartsy, I’ll meet your family. I give _great_ parent, trust me, it’ll be awesome.” He leans in as if he’s about to kiss Carter, then pauses. “Or, actually, do you want me to give bad parent, and then they’ll love whoever you bring home for real? Because I could do—”

“No,” Carter interrupts, huffing. “I want them to meet _you_ , because I love you.”

Kevin sits up fully and stares at him. Carter sits up as well and waits, aware that he just dropped a major bomb. It would take anyone a minute to process.

But Kevin just keeps staring at him. He says, “Uh,” after what feels like one thousand years, but then he doesn’t say anything else, and Carter is positive that he just entirely fucked this up. 

“Right…okay,” Carter says. “I’m just gonna…” 

He gets up from the bed and starts collecting pieces of his clothing from the floor, avoiding looking in Kevin’s direction. Putting them on doesn’t make him feel any less vulnerable, but at least it’s something.

Fully dressed again, he hesitates, studying the floor, then risks looking back up at Kevin again. Kevin is still staring at him. Carter wants to be angry that he’s not saying anything, but mostly he just feels like he’s going to burst into tears, and he doesn’t want to do that here.

Carter swallows hard past the lump in his throat. “Don’t worry about it.” He turns and makes a break for it down the hallway.

He’s almost to the door when Kevin’s voice booms down the hallway. “Wait, no, wait up!” Carter turns around and watches as Kevin half-runs, half-hops down the hallway, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and nearly tripping over them in the process. “Fuck, I’m so stupid, Carter, don’t go.”

Carter waits, hope swelling in his chest. When he’s caught up, Kevin reaches for Carter’s hands, and Carter lets him take them. 

“Listen, Carter, you have to realize, I’m like…the dumbest guy alive sometimes. Or, like, _always_ , I dunno, man. But, like, shit, I’ve been in love with you this whole fucking time, and it took you saying you love _me_ for me to get a clue.”

Carter bites his lip. “You…”

“Didn’t notice that I’m in love with you, yeah,” Kevin smiles ruefully. “Stupid, right? Why else would I want to be your fake boyfriend?” 

Carter laughs shakily. “I did kind of wonder. Thought you just really liked bets.”

“Well, that, too,” Kevin says. “But no, I just love you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize and ask you on a real date like a normal person.”

“I dunno, I kind of liked the fake dates,” Carter teases, unable to stop the smile growing on his face. “I mean, they kind of made me fall for you, so…”

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, baby,” Kevin says. “C’mere.”

He pulls Carter into a fierce hug, and Carter hugs back just as hard.

“I’m totally ready to meet your fam as your real boyfriend,” Kevin says into Carter’s shoulder. He pulls back to look Carter in the face, smirking. “Hey, do you think we need to practice our PDA? To be convincing _real_ boyfriends, I mean.”

Carter laughs. “You’re so dumb,” he says, fond.

“You love me, though.”

“Yeah,” Carter agrees. “And we should definitely practice being real boyfriends. For, like, a long time, probably.”

“Totally,” Kevin says solemnly. “What did I tell you? If you practice, you can do it whenever you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like [dad jokes](http://twitter.com/ungilded) or [Alberta](http://twitter.com/thistidalwave), follow us on twitter.


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